When a Fanboy Attacks: Violetta's Worst Nightmare
by TermiteSquidSnowLeopard
Summary: A teenage boy from the present day travels to the universe of La Traviata, there to meet the heroine Violetta, and generally cause a lot of bother in the plot. Inspired by "When Phangirls Attack: Erik's Worst Nightmare" Quirky characters, much opera! R
1. Preludio

**This fanfic is unabashedly inspired by "When Fangirls Attack: Erik's Worst Nightmare." It is very similar, apart from the fact that the author, characters, setting, and writing style are totally different. I'm not yet sure whether it will have more humor or more seriousness, but it should have both in large doses. In this case, the fanboy (Ben) is going to the world of La Traviata, a splendid opera (my favorite), music by Verdi. **

Ben's POV:

"Darn it," I whispered to myself, dropping my backpack onto the floor. _I'm going to be late. The overture's almost finished. And how do you even say "darn" in Italian, anyway? _

I went up to the bathroom mirror. _Well, I'm looking pretty in-period. _I smiled. _The glasses are a bit too modern, but oh well, I'm not going to try to do without them._ It had been hard enough to find a suit that would pass in the 19th century and complete the transaction without confusing my parents. I held out the printout with instructions on tying a tie, concentrating on properly folding it around my neck; not something I was used to. I frowned upon bringing up the knot; a bit uncomfortably tight. _Oh well. _I grinned; at least it looked alright! _Indeed_, I thought as I plopped a hat upon my unkempt brown hair, _I look way more distinguished than usual. _Forgetting my hurry, I took a moment to make faces at myself, then widen my eyes and stare at their reflection. Vain and egotistical as it was, I felt almost proud at the swirls of green and gray and flecks of yellow-brown, as if, in some way, I could credit myself with their creation.

I shook myself and turned back to my backpack. _Ugh, I really do have a problem with dawdling. I could miss the opening! _Quickly, I unzipped a compartment and shoved in my shoes, sweatpants, owl sweatshirt, and salaam T-shirt, jamming them around Meggy's case—Meggy being the name of my laptop. I had a lot of important files stored on her, and it would be a shame to lose access; well, I'd gotten a hand-cranked battery charger so that lack of electricity wouldn't be an issue.

_Okay, anything else I need? _I had enough 19th century money—American, but there would surely be an opportunity to exchange it—I had some books, a few CDs, an alarm clock, toothbrush and toothpaste, stuff for acne, pajamas, a green fleece blanket, an electric shaver—I didn't want to do _that _the authentic way—, a brush, an enormous stash of Kleenex, a few stuffed animals, a little medical first-aid kit, an Italian dictionary… and, of course, the libretto to _La Traviata_. For soon, at last, I would be able to see Violetta Valéry, not just a singer taking her role, but the real fictional character. My heart raced. I would actually go there, there in another universe where opera really happened, where French people spoke Italian and orchestra music came from thin air for accompaniment.

Not that I was entirely sure what I'd do upon arrival. I couldn't go back until Violetta's death, I knew—that was the way the other universe worked—and as a 17-year old with few skills beyond academics, and a self-admitted lack of common sense, I had little way of providing for myself… but I'd figure something out.

I hoisted my backpack—a necessary anachronism—and closed my eyes. As the opening chords of _La Traviata_ sounded through the Chicago Lyric Opera, I jumped from the ground, letting all contact with this dull, mainstream universe slip away, letting myself drift into the speeding melodies of the opening party music, into the world of pure opera.

**I am another commentivore, so please ensure that I do not go into a coma by giving me a healthy number of comments. I understand that, if you are not reading this, you may not be able to comment, but if you are, please do, unless you are actively undergoing major surgery at this very moment.**


	2. Un Altro che Molto v'Onora

**Okay, I'm trying to do my own translation of the Italian here, but I'm a bit handicapped on account of having an Italian dictionary and knowledge of **_**Spanish**_** grammar, but not actually knowing the **_**Italian **_**language. I'm only going to quote scattered parts of the original opera, anyway.**

**Also, I would like to take one more moment to plea for comments, although in consideration, I suppose there are probably a fair number of people who aren't around this time of year, and this fic is probably not very prominent to discover.**

**Oh yes, and Merry Christmas!**

Ben's POV:

I opened my eyes to a closet, hats and overcoats hung upon pegs. Behind me, I could hear a group of people singing: "_Dell'invito trascorsa è già l'ora? Voi tardaste._" ["It is past the time of the invitation. You were late."]

I hung up my hat—it looked a little fake, among the real hats of the time, but that couldn't be helped—and tucked my backpack into a corner, careful to note where I'd left it. Then I stepped out to join the partying throng, craning my neck for a glimpse of Violetta or Alfredo, or even a minor character—but would I recognize them?

The second chorus passed by through the door: "_Giocammo da Flora, e giocando quell'ore volar._" ["We were playing at Flora's, and when playing, time flies."]

And yes, there it was, a soprano voice approaching! "_Flora, amici, la notte che resta d'altre gioie qui fate brillar, fra le tazze più viva è la festa._" ["Flora, friends, the remaining night shines of other joys when you are here, the party is livelier between the cups."]

I had put so much anticipation into this moment that my leg was twitching, but I managed to calm it enough to walk. I turned sideways and slipped through one of the choruses, my skinny body easily working through the gaps, until I came to the edge of the crowd and was looking out at Violetta.

My eyes widened, and I blinked to keep from staring. _How could she be so beautiful? Even more than when played by Teresa Stratas… no wonder she's so famous a courtesan. _Her features were smooth and exquisite, the black hair silken and glossy, arched eyebrows accenting her face, expression perfectly encapsulating all her strivings, hopes, fears, conflicting desires, even already lines of despair from her illness. I shook myself. _Darn it, I myself hate it whenever anyone judges someone else by beauty. I shouldn't get preoccupied over it as well! After all, I always shudder when I hear someone described as a "pretty girl," as if her defining characteristic were something beyond her control. No, it was her mind that drew me to the character Violetta._

As I stood there, bedazzled amidst the splendor and song, I saw as a pair of men approached Violetta; one must be Alfredo, the other his friend, Gastone. The crowd was dispersing through the house, but I lingered, watching Gastone introduce Alfredo to her: "_In Alfredo Germont, o singora, ecco un altro che molto v'onora; pochi amici a lui simili sono._" ["In Alfredo Germont, o lady, there is another who honors you much; few friends are like him."]

I smiled. _And so the tale of love begins. "Another who honors you much"… what an appropriate phrase. Of course, it's meant for Alfredo, but here I am, more "other" than they could realize, but also honoring the timeless Violetta very much._

There was a tap on my shoulder and a few words in Italian.

I turned around to see a young servant girl. "Sorry, what did you say?" I asked in Italian, hoping that my intensive studying had dispelled my accent.

"The table is set for dinner, signor, and most of the guests have gone there now… but you seemed lost."

"Oh, thank you." I looked around, trying to spot the table, still listening to Gastone telling Violetta of Alfredo's devotion.

"It's right there, signor." The servant pointed to the table, plainly in view a ways in front of me.

I grimaced at my obliviousness. "Yeah, I see… thanks." I started over, then turned back. "Oh, what's your name?"

"Annina." _Of course, Violetta's maid. I didn't remember her being in this act, but oh well. _"Enjoy the party, signor."

I nodded, heading over to the table. "Thanks, you too, Annina."

She only shook her head and receded back to her cleaning tasks.

The table was full with men and women, chattering and eating, but I didn't pay them much attention, merely sitting down on an empty chair and taking out my copy of the libretto for a quick review of the words to the chorus part of the drinking song. Once finished, I looked up at the food glumly. I should have realized this would be a problem… dishes upon dishes of meat, and I, nearly a vegetarian. _Maybe if I snack on the appetizers and chicken, no one will notice that I'm passing over the beef_. At least I'd already washed my hands before I left. I frowned. This whole party was really uncomfortable; in real life I would never have gone. A bunch of people chattering among each other, mostly about topics I found crude or uninteresting… well, that was nothing new, really, but I fit in even worse now.

The beautiful sounds of Violetta's singing approached, and I looked up to hear her sing: "_Pronto è il tutto?_" ["Is it all ready?"] The servants nodded, and she beckoned for her companions to come: "_Miei cari, sedete…_" [Sit, my dear ones…] but then stopped, frowning, the orchestral accompaniment halting for the first time since I had arrived, right in the middle of a sweet phrase of music. "The table is short a setting."


	3. Libiamo!

**I hope the delay in posting was worth it. Although I have a feeling not many people, if any, are reading this. If you do actually read this, please review! I would appreciate it muchly. Thanks. **

**Hmm, it's probably time for a disclaimer as to what I own. I own a CD of La Traviata with Ileana Cortubas, which includes the libretto, a DVD with Teresa Stratas, and an Italian dictionary. What more does one need?**

Violetta's POV:

Gastone came behind me and scanned the table. "You're right; there are only two empty chairs."

"How strange! The servants reported no unexpected arrivals." I looked among those seated; I knew most of them, of course, at least in passing, but friends did have a way of multiplying, and so many had taken more friends of their own. Someone could have easily slipped in.

Alfredo went to my other side. "Since I had never met you before, perhaps the servants did not know to set a place for me.

_But they should have heard that Gastone was bringing a friend. _"Very well, it is no matter." I waved for a servant. "Bring another chair and table setting."

Once that was settled, we all sat, I between Gastone and Alfredo. "Now, where was I?"

"You just sang 'Miei cari, sedete,'" said a youth whom I didn't know, seated next to Alfredo. "I believe 'È al convito che s'apre ogni cor,' [And every heart opens itself to the banquet] comes next."

I raised an eyebrow; how did he know what I was going to sing next? "Who are you?" For that matter, he didn't quite match with the other guests; younger than usual, with clothing of a strange cut and a trace of an accent when he spoke. And he was so pale, as well; _could he be sick like me?_

"Never mind." His dark, heavy eyebrows lowered. "Please, continue singing."

I blinked, taken aback. As soon as I launched into "_È al convito che s'apre ogni cor_," the accompaniment started up again, and Gastone went on to tell me how, while I was ill, Alfredo had spent so much time and energy inquiring after my wellbeing. I doubted it, of course; I was used to this kind of banter, but it really did seem like they were taking it too far.

We all conversed for a little while, in song, and for a moment, I felt a faint glimmer of hope; perhaps Alfredo was so dedicated because he really was a kind soul. "_Le mie grazie vi rendo_," ["I give you my thanks."] I told him, then shot at my lover, across the table: "_Voi, Barone, non feste altrettanto_." ["You, Baron, never did as much."]

Baron Douphol spluttered. "_Vi conosco da un anno soltano._" ["I've known you for only a year."]

I waved a hand disdainfully. "_Et ei solo da qualche minuto._" ["And he for only a few minutes."]

The youth next to Alfredo snorted, and Douphol turned to glare at him. "Have you been eavesdropping?"

"Um…" His eyes looked back and forth, as if searching for an excuse. "…not intentionally?"

Douphol turned to Flora. "_M'è increscioso quel giovin._" ["That youth annoys me."]

"No! You're supposed to say that about Alfredo! And not quite yet!" He gasped. "Pretend I didn't say that."

I looked at him in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

Flora gaped. "I forgot what I was going to say."

"Well _great_." The youth scowled, eyebrows lowered deeply. "Please, just never mind."

Gastone blinked. "What were we talking about?"

I turned back, still pondering. I wouldn't be surprised at all if that queer person proved to have been uninvited and the reason for the mistaken number of settings. "I was just thanking your friend, Alfredo, for his dedication."

Gastone nodded and turned to Alfredo. "_E tu dunque non apri più bocca?_" ["And so you've not yet opened your mouth?"]

"_È a madama che scuoterlo tocca_." ["It is for the lady to rouse the tongue."] The Marquis gave me a pointed look, grinning.

I reached over and poured some wine for Alfredo. "_Sarò l'Ebe che versa_." ["I'll be Hebe, who pours drinks."]

Alfredo smiled. "_E ch'io bramo immortal come quella_." ["I hope that you be immortal like her."]

I noticed that the youth was still watching us, smiling contentedly the whole time. What was he, some kind of voyeur? I wasn't sure I liked having him there.

As everyone around the table began singing the chorus "_Beviamo, beviamo, beviam!_" ["Let's drink, let's drink, let's drink!"], I watched him through the corner of my eye. His voice was distinct; loud, clear, very deep, and almost in tune.

Gastone went on to ask Douphol if he could give us a toast, but, typically, that dour man could think of nothing. Instead, he asked Alfredo, and although reluctant at first, when he asked if I would like it, and I said yes, that was enough to get him to start. He certainly was, if nothing else, a very earnest man.

"_Libiamo ne' lieti calici,_

"_Che la bellezza infiora;_

"_E la fuggevol ora_

"_S'inebriì a voluttà._

"_Libiam ne' dolci fremiti_

"_Che suscita l'amore,_

"_Poichè quell'ochio al core_

"_Onnipotente va._

"_Libiamo, amore, amor fra i calici_

"_Più caldi baci avrà."_

["Let's drink of happy cups,

"Which beauty flowers;

"And the fleeting hour

"Inebriates itself from pleasure.

"Let's drink of sweet thrills

"That inspire love

"As such eyes go

"Omnipotent to the heart.

"Let's drink, love, love between the cups

"There will be warmer kisses."]

I let myself smile slightly; _beautiful, Alfredo, such melodies of joy… would that I were so joyous. But I can make myself rejoice… I must!_

I sipped at my wine. I could feel the warmth seeping within me already; perhaps if I took more, I could forget all about my illness, even loneliness—but no. This was my own party, and through the revelries, I must not let myself become tipsy. I looked out among the singing chorus, so carefree as they went through their verses:

"_Ah! Libiam, amor fra' calici_

"_Più caldi baci avrà"_

["Ah! Let's drink, love between the cups

"There will be warmer kisses."]

The voyeur boy was still watching me intently, and I noticed that he hadn't even taken any wine. _What is he doing, just here to gape at me? I hope he doesn't keep trailing after me everywhere. Why even be at a party if you're not going to have a little wine?_

I stood, ready to sing my response.

"_Tra voi saprò dividere_

"_Il tempo mio giocondo;_

"_Tutto è follia nel mondo_

"_Ciò che non è piacer._

"_Godiam, fugace e rapido_

"_È il gaudio dell'amore;_

"_È un fior che nasce e muore,_

"_Nè più si può goder._

"_Godiam!_

"_C'invita un fervido_

"_Accento lusinghier."_

["Among you I would think to share

"The time of my happiness;

"All is folly in the world

"That is not pleasure.

"Let's enjoy; fleeting and rapid

"Is the joy of love;

"Like a flower that is born and dies,

"No longer to be enjoyed.

"Let's enjoy!

"While a fervent note

"Invites us, flattering."]

The chorus sprang up again, but I wasn't really listening now, as I looked across the table to Alfredo. He seemed so stolid, so dedicated, and within my chest I could feel a quickening heartbeat. _No… ignore that… it means nothing, and he is only acting…_

And the chorus sang around us:

"_Ah! Godiamo!_

"_La tazza e il cantico_

"_La notte abbella e il riso_

"_In questo paradiso_

"_Ne scopra il nuovo di"_

["Ah! Let's enjoy!

"The cup and the canticle

"The night of beauty and the laughter

"In this paradise

"From here uncovers the new day"]

I sang over to Alfredo, trying to keep my racing breathing under control. "_La vita è nel tripudio._" ["Life is only rejoicing."]

His eyes met mine, as if they reached over and called. "_Quando non s'ami ancora…_" ["Only when you still don't love…"]

I broke the gaze. "_Nol dite a chi l'ignora._" ["Don't speak to one whom it ignores."]

"_È il mio destin così." _ ["So is my destiny."]

I winced inwardly as we sat again and the chorus took over with the drinking song. Alfredo was so persistent! I wasn't up for this kind of thing… and surely he was taunting me, oh too much. I picked at my food, not feeling like I had much appetite remaining.

And I wasn't alone in my pickiness, either. That youth besides Alfredo seemed so into the singing, deep voice, still not completely past adolescence, projecting within the chorus, his own kind of joy bursting within… but he hadn't touched the wine, nor were there any remnants of beef or pork upon his plate. Skinny and pale, picky in what food he chose, table manners clearly lacking in refinement, obsessed with watching me, irked at being noticed, yet clearly exultant to be there… who _was_ this?


End file.
